“Wow!” Sara says excitedly. “I’ve read books by all of them, right here in Talon’s library.”
“Oh? Talon was into philosophy?”
“No,” she laughs. “Well, maybe. The library was started by his great-great-grandmother, so there are all kinds of books in there that I’m sure Talon never even read. That’s why it’s interesting to me that I happen to have read the same ones as you. Did you study them much?”
“I was…stuck in an isolated place once. I happened to have those books on hand and didn’t have anything else to do but read. I didn’t expect to enjoy them so much, though.”
I dance around with my words, not wanting to reveal I was on a deep-cover stakeout in a house that didn’t belong to me.
“What did you conclude from their teachings?” she asks eagerly.
“Conclude? Nothing. I sure as hell want to think about it a lot more, though.”
“And talk about it?” she asks, a little shyly.
I nod. “I’d love someone to talk to about this. My friends aren’t deep thinkers.”
“Then I’m glad we found something in common,” she says, smiling.
I smile back, a sense of true contentment rising in me. All I’ve wanted is a chance to get to know her, and now that I have it, I won’t let it go to waste.
“Why don’t you let me clean up,” she says. “You can go and shower, then we’ll talk a bit more.”
“I don’t know,” I reply. “I should clean up.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she says, standing up to clear the table. “Shoo! Get out of here before I change my mind.”
“Okay,” I chuckle, heading for the bathroom. I shower quickly, and by the time I get back, Sara has finished with the kitchen and is pouring brandy into two glasses.
“Should we go and sit in the garden?” she asks.
I nod in agreement and follow her out to the covered courtyard.
For about an hour, we share our thoughts on different philosophical theories, the banter moving on to gardening, cooking, and back to literature as we work our way through the bottle of brandy. Even though the tough topics of our problems in the pack are still looming over our heads, it feels good just letting it all go and enjoying each other.
Ironically, this is what the marriage tie is supposed to do—bind the outsider to the pack’s values and people.
While Sara talks, I let my eyes travel over her, my gaze becoming more fixed as I slowly dissolve into a drunken haze. I can’t stop looking at her plump, full curves, her beautiful red mouth, and her graceful hands.
A worker’s hands—rough, calloused, and strong. She’s been through a lot, and she’s come out of it tough and capable.
I want to ask her about how she grew up, but I’m afraid to break the mood. I let her take over the conversation and enjoy watching her until she suddenly blushes and turns to face me.
“I’m sorry, I’m blabbering, aren’t I? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—I don’t usually drink, and it’s gone to my head a little.”
“It’s totally fine,” I say. “I’m enjoying the conversation, anyway.”
“Okay,” she laughs. “So, what was I talking about?”
“I have no idea,” I reply, reaching out absently to brush back a strand of her long, golden hair. “I was too busy looking at you.”
She blushes a furious shade of red and looks into her lap.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I say quickly. “I hope I didn’t offend you. I’ve had a bit too much to drink as well.”
“No, it’s okay,” she whispers. “I’m just not used to people finding me nice to look at.”
“What the fuck?” I mutter. “Are you serious? You’re gorgeous.”
